


Attempt

by thescatterbrain



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Gen, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, Suicide Attempt, To An Extent, damn the research for this was upsetting, inspired by something i read in a novel about feminism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 04:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7153487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescatterbrain/pseuds/thescatterbrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England gets a very distressing phone call, and is worried about America's safety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attempt

**Author's Note:**

> While I am a USUK shipper, I wanted to focus on the older brother/younger brother or father/son relationship that America and England have in this fic. So there is no romance going on between anyone lol

It was ass o’ clock in the morning when England’s telephone went off. He groaned as he was woken up and grumpily felt for the receiver. “Yes, hello, what is it?” he barked into the phone. There was no reply. “Hello? Anyone there?” He heard a voice so soft it could barely be heard. England pinched the bridge of his nose, patience wearing thin. “You’re going to have to speak up. I can scarcely hear you.” The voice grew stronger, but England still could not make out the words. “Look here, if you don’t make yourself audible sometime soon I am going to -”

“England!” The voice finally broke through the receiver. “England, it’s Canada.”

“Canada?” England asked. “What in blazes is so important that you need to contact me at this time?”

“It’s America,” Canada said. 

“Isn’t it always?”

“Please, England. You need to get to America’s place as soon as possible. Japan, France, Finland, and I are already here with him. We need you here too. You might be able to talk to him more.”

Now England was beginning to grow nervous. What could have happened to America that needed him so urgently? And that had already called so many others? He voiced these questions to Canada.

“I’ll explain everything when you get here. Please, just come quickly.” The line went dead. England stared at the phone in his hand, feeling uneasy. He got out of bed and booked a flight to New York for the next morning. He threw a suitcase together to last him at least a couple days, and made himself a strong cup of tea. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep until after he saw America. 

The drive to the airport was too long. Security took too long. The flight was far too long. England couldn’t stop nervously tapping his leg. He was growing more anxious by the minute. The longer he dwelled on the phone call with Canada, the more his stomach twisted into a large knot. The passenger next to him glared at his twitching fingers, and England began biting his nails. When the plane finally touched down, his fingernails were nubs and his cuticles were bleeding from being picked at. He grabbed his suitcase and tried to get off the plane and leave the airport as quickly as he could (which still took too long). He hailed a taxi to America’s house. 

England was exhausted. He felt like he needed a shower. He desperately wanted a cup of tea and possibly a smoke. He pushed all those thoughts out of mind when the taxi pulled in front of America’s house. The driver tried to yell at him for paying with a handful of British notes instead of dollars, but England ignored him as he sprinted into the house. The cabbie could exchange the money somewhere.

He made his way to America’s bedroom. He was met by Finland, France, and Canada waiting outside of it. They looked up at him, all seeming relieved by his presence. “Well?” he asked Canada. “Will you tell me what happened now?”

France and Finland looked alarmed. “You didn’t tell him?” Finland asked. 

“There was no time,” Canada explained. “I was nervous and had to get back to America. I just needed to make sure England got here.” He turned to England. “America is . . . not well. Um, he’s right in his room right now. Japan is in there trying to talk to him. We’re trying to stabilize him, and physically he’s doing alright. Mentally, though . . .” Canada trailed off. England dropped his suitcase and stepped towards the door. France grabbed his arm. 

“You need to understand,” he said, voice lacking it’s usual suave tone, “America has been unresponsive to all of us. He won’t tell us why. So, don’t be as abrasive as you always are.” England drew back from the door. 

“What . . . what happened to him?”

Canada took a deep breath, and looked England in the eyes for the first time since he had been there. “England, America tried to kill himself.”

After recovering from the floor trying to open up and eat him, England finally steeled his nerves and opened the door. He wasn’t sure what to expect upon entering, and carefully took in the scene. 

America was lying in bed with an IV in his hand. He looked pale, and a little thinner than he usually did. His eyes were red and bloodshot as he stared at Japan. Japan was making quiet conversation, seemingly trying to coax America into joining. America looked drawn, frail, unhappy - everything England had never thought he would ever dream of describing him as. Worst of all, America was quiet. He didn’t jump in with Japan’s conversation, didn’t interrupt with loud exclamations and anecdotes. England felt weak, but blamed it on him forgetting to eat anything since he got on the plane. He slowly walked towards the bed, footsteps alerting Japan and America that he was there. Japan nodded at him and left the room with a goodbye to America. America remained silent. 

His face seemed to form a shadow of an expression at England’s arrival. He seemed surprised, and England could only hope that he was happy to see him. He sat in the chair Japan had abandoned beside the bed and drew it close. He cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“Um, you’ve certainly got yourself into a situation,” he said. America snorted. _Well, that’s a start I suppose._ “So, America, care to tell your dear old big brother what all this is about?” America looked at him, eyes glassy and dull. 

“You’re not acting like they are,” he said quietly. England frowned. 

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone else is being all polite and acting like I’m a kid they gotta dance around. You’re being like you always are - mean and to the point.”

England bristled. “I am not _mean_ ,” he argued. America rolled his eyes and went back to being despondent. England composed himself and started again. “America, you have everyone worried sick. What happened?” America shrugged. “Now I’m serious, I need an answer from you.” America looked down at his hands. England was growing frusturated. “America, I swear. Now is not the time to be stubborn. We want to help you. If you could just tell us -”

“What do you want me to say?” America suddenly snapped. His voice was cold and steely. “You want me to just open up and tell you everything? You think there is one simple reason for all of this? You guys don’t know shit, so just leave me alone.”

England tried to compose himself. “No,” he said calmly.

That caught America off guard. “No?” he asked, uncertain. 

“We are not leaving you alone," England continued. "We all care for you, but we can’t help you unless you stop acting like a child and tell us what happened." America’s shoulders relaxed, and England thought he might have gotten through. 

“You know what happened," he said, looking down at his hands. "I tried to overdose on pain pills.” Something cold shot down England’s spine, making him go rigid. He realized that he had not known how America had tried to kill himself, and finding out was terrifying. It brought a lot more reality to the situation.

“No, I mean . . . why did you try that?”

America was refusing to meet England’s eyes. He was biting his lip, wringing his hands, as if going over in his head what to tell England. Tears slipped out of his eyes and he began to shake slightly. “I . . . I . . . it was everything, Iggy.” He was sobbing, trying to hide his face in his hands. England carefully pulled the hands away, ignoring the scars that ran crookedly up and down America’s wrists. 

“Everything?” he asked gently.

“We’re at fucking war, England. Half the country is protesting it, and I’m starting to think they might be right. So many young guys are getting sent over to Vietnam, so many are dying. I’m tired of war, but I’m always fucking at war with _someone_.” America drew a shaky breath. “It’s been a freaking mess here. People are protesting left and right - the women and the blacks want equal rights and no one wants to actually give it to them for some reason. I fucked up relations with Latin America, and inflation is only getting worse.” He drew his knees to his chest and wrapped them in his arms. He continued quietly. “The country has been in shambles since the Depression. I thought I could come out of that, that everyone would struggle for just a little while. But then the Depression went on forever, and people were struggling, and it’s almost the 1970s and we’re still shitty and sad and nothing is good.”

England sat there, trying to absorb the information. He tried to speak, but no words were coming out. 

“Kids are killing themselves more,” America said suddenly. England looked at him, shocked. “Suicide rates have been going up like crazy. You know how many sixteen year old kids off themselves each day? I feel every one of them, Iggy. I feel every hanging, every gun to the head, every . . . every overdose.” America swallowed. England tried to rub his back in a comforting manner. 

“You know," he started, trying to think of something to say, "everyone dealt with the Depression. Everyone felt the repercussions of it afterwards and-”

“You think I don’t know that?” America snapped. England froze at the outburst. More tears were welling at the corners of America’s eyes. “You think I don’t know that everyone else has been through the exact same shit I’m dealing with? I know that I’m weak because I can’t handle it, I know I’m dumb for thinking I could handle being a country on my own. I know that no one takes me seriously and that I’m selfish for thinking I have it so bad but I’m so tired of all of it, Iggy. I just . . .” America’s tears spilled once again, “I just want an out.”

England got up and hugged America. He let the young country cry into his shoulder until his suit was soaked through. He pulled back to look at America’s face. “Alfred,” he said quietly. America looked up at the use of his human name, confused. “Tell me, how old are you?”

America frowned. “I’m 192 and you know it.”

“No, no, I mean, how old are you in human years?” America thought for a second.

“Nineteen,” he replied. England shook his head. 

“Christ. I forget how young you are. You’re still a bloody teenager.” England sighed and settled back in the chair, holding on to America's hand. “America, did you ever talk to anyone when all of this was building up? Like Canada, for example? He is your brother after all.”

“Well, no, I didn’t.”

“Please, America, if this stuff happens again, talk to one of us. You have friends and family here for you. Even Finland-”

“Hey, Finland has more ground for calling himself my older brother than either you or France ever did,” America interrupted. England smiled softly.

“Yes, well, we all care for you. And you’re still young, even for a country, so don’t feel bad if the pressure gets to be too much. You’re doing splendidly for all that you’ve had to go through these past years. You even fought in the World Wars, and you were much younger than everyone else involved. You're a force to be reckoned with.”

“Ya think so?” America asked, eyes wide. They were getting some of their light back in them. 

“Yes. But if you tell anyone I said that I’ll make sure that you never eat a burger when you are in the United Kingdom.”

“Aw, c’mon Iggy,” America whined, but a smile betrayed him.

“There we are, a smile! Feeling more like yourself?” 

“Yeah, actually. Thanks, England.” 

England smiled and squeezed America’s hand gently. “I’m going to go tell the others you’re alright. Can I tell them everything you told me?” America’s smile faded. He seemed uncomfortable with everyone knowing. 

“Uh, I guess. But can you leave out the part where I cried? I don’t really want to go shouting that from rooftops,” he said. England rolled his eyes, but agreed. He left the room after kissing America on the forehead and promising to be back at the next meal to eat with him.

The other countries looked at him with wide eyes when he exited. “You got him to talk,” Finland said in awe. “He hasn’t said anything since Canada had him admitted to the hospital.” 

“Thank you, England,” Canada said softly. “He really needed to see you. Don’t let him know I told you this, but he really seeks your approval.” England nodded.

“I’m glad I could help. I really do think he will get better. A lot just built up on him, and that’s a lot for a young chap to handle, isn’t it?” he said. Everyone murmured in agreement.

“So what did America tell you in there?” France asked. England took a deep breath, and told them what America had said.

**Author's Note:**

> In Paul Johnson's _Modern Times_ , he entitles a chapter about the 1960s "America's Suicide Attempt", which was what inspired this work  
> Edit: after rereading this and some criticism of it, I realized that it sounds as if everything has been solved. That was not was I was aiming for. The fic was meant to show the beginning of America getting better, not the ending


End file.
